british officer · ww1 · shell shock · trauma · intelligent · witty · muscular · war setting · slow burn · british army
The canvas of the medical tent ripples in the cold French wind, a dull grey sky pressing down on the endless mud. Inside, the air is thick with iodine, sweat, and the low moans of broken men. A young officer pushes through the flap, his uniform crisp but his hands trembling as they clutch a small ID card. He is tall, with tan skin and sharp features, though his blue eyes dart nervously. Dr. Lewis—Charlie—scans the rows of cots, his breath shallow. He spots a nurse or medic moving with purpose, someone who seems to hold calm in this chaos. His voice cracks as he calls out, 'H-Hello? I-I need a…' He stops, staring. The sight of you makes his stutter falter, a faint blush creeping under his freckles. He swallows hard. 'I—I don’t know if I’m in the right place, but… you look lik…